


life is already complete

by glitterjemstone



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Multi, and i just really love les amis, friendship fluff, marius just really loves his friends, this isn't about any relationship really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterjemstone/pseuds/glitterjemstone
Summary: What if Courfeyrac tried to hit on her? What if Éponine hated her? What if Enjolras demanded too much of her? What if Cosette realized what a loser he was compared to Combeferre? What if she would rather spend her time with Musichetta? What if Grantaire said something wildly inappropriate and scared her off?--Marius has no reason to worry, his life is already complete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I wrote this on a bad day, to cheer myself up with the characters I love most (and it worked). This is just Marius realizing how much he cares about his friends. Thanks for reading it, though! This is unedited and un-beta'd, so let me know if there are any typos? (I'm very prone to them.)

Safe to say, Marius was thoroughly panicked. He was panicking, panicking because he had just asked Cosette out on a date, and then promptly turned and ran away, away to the Musain, where he was just on time for the ABC Society’s weekly meeting.

God, he had just _blurted_ it out. _Blurted_ it, like he couldn’t keep the words inside him any longer (which might just have been true). Cosette hadn’t even met his friends yet! She had never been to an ABC Society meeting!

Marius knew, logically, that les Amis de l’ABC were going to love Cosette, and that Cosette, in turn, would fall in love with his friends as well. Cosette was sweet, she was kind, she had a good heart and a strong mind; she was exactly the kind of person who would join the ABC Society.

And his _friends_. His friends were driven, they were loud and passionate, they never rested, they always had something going on. They all loved deeply, and would rather die than turn away someone who needed help. (Marius suspected that Enjolras literally _would_ die before he didn’t try to help someone. Ah, well. Everyone has their fatal flaw.)

Cosette and les Amis were a match made in heaven.

But that didn’t stop Marius’s incessant worrying. (What if Courfeyrac tried to hit on her? What if Éponine hated her? What if Enjolras demanded too much of her?) (What if Cosette realized what a loser he was compared to Combeferre? What if she would rather spend her time with Musichetta? What if Grantaire said something wildly inappropriate and scared her off?)

_Thoughts, thoughts, too many thoughts._

Marius hurried up the stairs, two at a time, to the second floor of the Musain, a small loft area enclosed from the view of the café-goers. With a soft _click_ , he opened the door and slipped into the back of the room, letting the door close behind him.

Someone was playing music from their phone, an old pop playlist that no one could _really_ hate, and the large round tables had been moved around from their usual organized locations.

No one noticed his entrance. That wasn’t unusual, as today’s meeting was quite casual, a joyous gathering of friends, as opposed to the usual stern and loud speeches that Enjolras gave and debates that followed, before they all went their separate ways for the upcoming school break.

In one corner, Éponine sat on a round table, legs crossed gracefully (though nothing about her was usually graceful), speaking to Joly, seated next to her in his chair, cane leaning up against his leg as his hands moved animatedly along with his lips. Éponine laughed at something he said.

In another corner, Grantaire and Bossuet sat across from each other, looking rather serious until Musichetta, curvy and fierce as always, appeared with four shots in hand. She set two down in front of each of the men, and sat at the third seat in between them.

She smirked, and counted down from three (Marius could tell, not because he was a good lip reader, but because she used her hands as well). On three, Bossuet and Grantaire downed their respective shots in quick succession. Grantaire choked on the second one (presumably because he had looked over at Enjolras), and so Bossuet threw his hands in the air as Musichetta declared him the victor of… _whatever_ , and pressed a sloppy kiss to his dark, bald head.

Grantaire spared a glance to the front again, where Enjolras was with Feuilly, Jehan, and Combeferre. Their voices carried throughout the room, and so Marius could hear perfectly what the conversation was about. And of course Enjolras was still involved in a serious discussion at what was mostly a small party.

“Single-sex schools only encourage gender norms! Separating boys and girls into two different schools makes it so that they get entirely different educations!” Enjolras insisted, his hands flying wildly about.

“Sure, but not having single-sex schools isn’t going to be the thing that destroys gender inequality! Many single-sex schools acknowledge sexism and girls-only schools can be a good place to separate girls from a lot of sexism in public, co-ed schools, don’t you think?” Feuilly responded. Marius had to give him credit; it was a good point, but there was no hope when it came to arguing Enjolras (Grantaire knew that all too well, but it never really _stopped_ him.)

“I think—,“ Jehan interrupted, bless him, decked out in a skirt that reached his knees and a flower pinned to his shirt, “What Enjolras means to say is that separating students by their assigned gender isn’t the answer?”

“—that the answer is to dismantle gender roles and change the way schools talk about gender identity and expression?” Combeferre finished the thought, his thick glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and dark skin looking even darker in contrast to the bright green button-down shirt he was wearing (really, _what_ was with that shirt?).

Enjolras nodded to him, with a look in his eyes that said Combeferre had spoken his thoughts. He ran his fingers through his golden hair, looking just as angelic as Grantaire always said he did, and smiled.

Marius dragged his eyes and ears away, and focused on the last group in the room. Bahorel and Courfeyrac were in the middle of arm wrestling, but Marius could tell it wasn’t serious. Courfeyrac had a paper party hat on his head, the band strapped around his chin comically. Bahorel was nearly in tears from how hard he was laughing, as Courfeyrac kept insisting he was winning the battle (this was never going to be a fact, knowing the amount Bahorel worked out).

“Do you give up yet? I know, I know, it’s hard to lose, but it happens to everyone at some point,” Courfeyrac teased, his grin taking up his whole face. It reached his eyes, full of sparkles and love, and warmed Marius to his bones. Even he started to laugh.

Bahorel turned at the sounds of his laughter.

“Marius! You’ve made it!” He exclaimed, making everyone’s head turn towards Marius. Marius ducked his head, not used to the whole group’s eyes on him, and nodded.

“Thought you were with your girl tonight?” Bossuet asked.

“She’s not my girl,” Marius said bashfully. He shrugged. “But I did ask her out. And then ran all the way here without an answer.”

There were cheers and laughter from the whole room. The whole group seemed to shift with his arrival (or rather, the notice of it). Courfeyrac had gotten up and put his party hat on Marius, and then dragged him to the center table and sat him down. His friends crowded around him, and someone put a drink in front of him.

“Here’s to you getting a yes at some point!” Grantaire said, raising the glass, and then letting Marius take it and drink from it.

“Here’s to hoping,” Joly laughed from somewhere in the group.

“Oh, you’ll get a yes,” Jehan said happily, grabbing Marius’s face in his hands. “Who could say no to this face?”

More laughter, and a joking “Me!” from a voice that sounded like Feuilly.

Marius smiled, looking around him.

Enjolras had wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s neck, resting his head gently on Grantaire’s shoulder. His blond curls covered a lot of his face, and probably tickled Grantaire’s neck (though if it did, nothing was said), but Marius could see a soft look in his eyes and a small smile from his cupid-bow lips.

Joly was standing in between Musichetta and Bossuet, cane in hand, and Marius could see that Musichetta had an arm around his waist, and Bossuet was rubbing soothing circles in Joly’s black hair. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, happy to be next to his favorite people.

Bahorel had put his arm on Jehan’s head, letting Jehan be his armrest. Jehan perhaps put a little effort into looking irritated, but Marius knew the poet loved being touched, loved the affection of knowing his friends were around him. Jehan fumbled with the flower pin on him, and then took it off to hand over to Éponine, who gladly swiped it from his open hand and pinned it to her jeans. She then took a hair tie from her wrist and tied up her long dark hair.

When they both had their hair up, Éponine and Musichetta looked shockingly similar. Musichetta was still round and small, with big eyes and a ruby-red grin, and Éponine was still taller and slender, with thick eyebrows and long fingers, but there was always something similar about the two of them. It wasn’t their brown skin, nearly the same shade, or their wavy hair.

No, there was something about the hardness in their eyes, the determination with which they slicked their hair back and defended their friends. They had similar interiors, hardly noticeable unless you looked carefully. They both built a wall around themselves, and then let it come crumbling down in this back room of the Musain. They both let their sarcasm and wit do the talking, let their smirk send the message, until Éponine looked at Marius and Musichetta at her boyfriends, and then they would smile, and bring you in for a conversation.

Marius liked that about them. He liked knowing them.

Looking around, looking into the eyes of his closest friends, as they stumbled together in this back room, in this room they had made _theirs_ , Marius realized something.

It didn’t matter if Cosette said yes or no. It didn’t matter if _she_ liked them or not, because _he_ loved them.


End file.
